


Final Breaths

by Izzygrace07



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types
Genre: Character Death, M/M, Please Don't Kill Me, Why Did I Write This?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-21
Updated: 2017-11-21
Packaged: 2019-02-05 03:27:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12785961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Izzygrace07/pseuds/Izzygrace07
Summary: Most would see his choice as pathetic, maybe shake their heads at his inanity. “Throwing away his life,” they would say. “Giving up.” But really, was it? If using your last bit of energy to reach for the stranger's house phone so you may place one final call to your beloved is giving up, then what would it be if he had chosen to just lay there, waiting for his time to crumble into dust? Was this really such a horrid thing to do in his final moments?





	Final Breaths

It was inevitable, and he knew it. He knew that the knife was too far into his chest, that it had hit his left lung, and that blood was slowly making its way into his respiratory system. He was going to die from either blood loss or suffocation: which one would be the cause of his demise, he was unsure of. All he could do was stare up at the ceiling of the stranger's house, the stranger who had kidnapped him in hopes of learning more about D.I.C.E. The stranger had spent hours trying to trick our protagonist into spilling the name of the other members of the group, but he wouldn't budge. That information was classified, of course. Once the kidnapper had left the room, he was able to undo the ropes that had kept him bound against a kitchen chair. Once free, our protagonist made his way to the front door of the house. His hands were only inches away, just about to grasp the doorknob when he was suddenly spun around and met with a sharp pain in his chest. The stranger had fled, leaving our protagonist alone in a place that remained unknown to him, a place of horror and despair.

 

Now here he was, laying on his back with a knife sticking out of his chest, heavily breathing in an attempt to hold on to what little life he has left. It was getting harder to breathe, to see, to think, to anything. How had it come to this? Was this what he was destined for, to die in such a gruesome manner? He has heard stories of surviving kidnapping from his own boyfriend, who had worked with criminals many times before, only to escape with patience and reverse psychology. Why couldn't he have escaped like his lover had done times before?

 

His lover. What would happen to his lover? How would he hear of our protagonist’s tragedy? Or would he ever find out about it? Would he even  _ care _ ?

 

So many questions, so many answers, and so little time to think about them. Time wasn't an infinite waste like people made it out to be: it was a blessing that was being given to our protagonist as he wilts away. He knew it too, that he had little left before he vanished into oblivion with all those who had walked the Earth before him. It was his turn. There was no saving him. How would he spend his last bit of time?

 

Most would see his choice as pathetic, maybe shake their heads at his inanity. “Throwing away his life,” they would say. “Giving up.” But really, was it? If using your last bit of energy to reach for the stranger's house phone so you may place one final call to your beloved is giving up, then what would it be if he had chosen to just lay there, waiting for his time to crumble into dust? Was this really such a horrid thing to do in his final moments?

 

The buttons on the phone felt like they were cement, refusing to budge when our protagonist attempted to push in his boyfriend's phone number. The weakness overcoming him was to be expected, of course. Hell, he could barely keep his eyes open, afraid to shut them in the belief that they may never open once he does. This was a need he had to satisfy, no matter how much he wanted to give in. There was too much left to say.

 

It took what felt like centuries for the number to be entered, and our protagonist felt a brief rush of relief when he could hear the other line ring softly in his ears. He put the phone on speaker, resting it just next to his head so he could hear the sound of his lover once he picked up.

 

“Hello?”

 

The tears that poured upon hearing that single word were to be expected just the same. To be able to live long enough to hear such a beautiful sound was truly a gift from God himself. It was the most magnificent song in the world, the most emotional melody to ever make its way to our protagonist's heart.

 

“Hey, Hun,” he said weakly, placing a mask of normality and excitement on over his breaking voice. “What are you doing?”

 

“Nothing really. I'm just looking through some old files. I can't believe the kind of things I used to get into.”

 

A light-hearted chuckle floated from the speaker. His beloved truly was a blessing in disguise, a pure angel. How our protagonist longed to tell his lover the truth, to wish him goodbye, to see his face one last time. However, the truth still remained: there was no time.

 

“Yeah, neither can I,” he says, forcing a voice of happiness and interest out of his body. He coughs, the sudden taste of copper entering his mouth. He was losing precious minutes.

 

“Hey, are you okay? Are you sick? Do you want me to come over”

 

His worrisome personality, his caringness toward his loved ones’ well-being, and his need to make them feel better was what drew our protagonist toward his boyfriend. It didn't matter if others thought he was “unreliable” or “not worth it" because he himself believes that his lover is the most beautiful person to ever walk to face of the Earth. Who could be so blind to such a wonderful human being?

 

“No, I'm fine,” he lies. “It's just a sore throat.” Suddenly he chokes up. It feels like his lungs are about to collapse, to bury the last of his existence. It was time.

 

“Well, I just wanted to call and see what was going on,” he says, holding back sobs. “And tell you…that I love you…so, so much.”

 

“…That was random. Well, I love you so, so much, too.”

 

And that's when he breaks. The final wall holding back his emotions shatters into millions upon millions of pieces, leaving him to feel the sorrow running down his face. How could this have happened? There are thousands of other days, billions of other times. Why did the Lord pick now? He knew these thoughts were ignorant, of course. He would have asked such similar questions on another day, no matter the circumstances. The day would have no effect on the situation.

 

“I'm going to get back to work, okay Hun?”

 

This was it. The final exchanging of words: their goodbyes. His lover would never know how important this goodbye was to our protagonist, or how much more he wanted to say. There will always be so much more to say, but never enough time to say it all, and this he knew all too well. This is the sad, painful, and honest truth. 

 

“Okay,” His voice cracks. He chokes back the tears as the blood he had tasted before slowly trickles out of the corners of his mouth. His vision darkens until his eyes are almost shut.

 

“See you when you get home!”

 

“Okay. I… I love you.”

 

“I love you too, Saihara-chan.”

 

………

 

……

 

…

 


End file.
